


I can't even look at you

by tokeneffort



Category: Trainspotting (Movies)
Genre: I Tried, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, i guess there's a sexuality crisis in this, i'm sorry if this is awful, so don't read this if that would be uncomfortable for you?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokeneffort/pseuds/tokeneffort
Summary: What if Mark had a crush on Simon and couldn't deal with it? (this started off with the intention of being fluffy, I don't even know what the fuck happened tbh).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This might be really OC, sorry. I just needed it out of my head so I could focus on my coursework.  
> But yeah, sorry.  
> Also, Mark is really worried about being potentially gay in this so if that could in any way trigger you, please don't read!  
> Also, I didn't even try to write in phonetic Scots...

**__**Simon’s thinner than average, the aftereffects of a pre-pubescent bout of glandular fever. He fits easily through the narrow windowpane above Mark’s bed and his slim body’s warm and comforting, even as he vibrates with rage.

“And then the cunt had the _audacity_ to say I didn’t care about my Mama,” he complains, keeping his voice soft so he won’t wake up Mark’s parents. “When he’s the bastard who keeps messing with her- he's got _another girlfriend_ \- she doesn’t deserve this, Mark!”

Mark’s half-asleep, and he’s missed most of Simon’s obnoxious rambling but he knows how to get his friend to shut up and the easiest way is to agree with him.

“Yeah, he’s an ass,” Mark manages, not-quite stifling a yawn. Simon stiffens, offended, but relaxes when Mark squirms a bit closer to him, because the window’s still open and the chill night air surrounds the bed, Simon an oasis of warm within it. He lies beside Simon, wishing he could put his head on Simon’s chest, or at least curl into him, but knowing that crosses a line, even if Simon has taken his whole pillow and letting Mark lie on him is the least he could do. Simon would sneer and then he’d leave and never talk to Mark ever again. Mark’s heart jumps in his throat at the thought and he twists, just a little, to see if Simon’s noticed his discomfort.

He hasn’t; he’s asleep, one arm flung over his face, fingers knotted in his own hair and the other resting on his belly. Mark feels a tinge of worry; Si sneaks in to whine (“not whine, _discuss_ , Mark, you philistine”) but he never actually spends the night.

Though Simon had been ill, the past week, skipping several days of school and missing YLT soccer practice and their frequent attempts to bluff themselves into bars. Perhaps he was still just overtired.

Determined not to overthink it and to just enjoy it, Mark settles himself closer and closes his own eyes.

He feels Simon’s absence the next morning, cold seeping from Simon’s side of the bed. Mark’s slightly relieved; it’d be a hell of a thing to explain to his parents, who were already terrified he was gay, why Simon was here.

He’s still strangely disappointed, though, and the feeling doesn’t go away when his mother gives him extra porridge, or when he manages to catch the earlier bus to school so he doesn’t have to walk with Billy.

It flares, painfully, when Simon wanders onto the playground and smiles at him.

“Alright, Mark?” he asks, and Mark’s mouth is too dry to say anything, so he just nods. He excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving Simon, Spud and Tommy sprawled on the grass. His face is hot, his palms sweaty and his muscles feel weak and sore. He splashes water on his face, wondering if he’s sick, before a crushing realization dawns on him; watching others go through it (and having had similar feelings before) makes it easy and his stomach aches. A crush. He has a _crush_. On Simon.

 _A crush_.

It’s the worst possible thing that could happen to him and he muffles a groan so the other people in the toilet don’t notice his distress.

Simon David fucking Williamson is an awful person to have a crush on- Mark knows, he’s seen Simon break the hearts of at least half the girls in the year. Not to mention the fact that Si’s... well... Simon and he has no idea how he’d even react to Mark bringing it up, let alone Mark’s parents, their friends, _Begbie_.

Mark’s nauseous, feeling the urge to vomit grow, and he bends over the sink and coughs up his breakfast, struggling to breathe through his panic. Next thing he knows, there’s a hand on the back of his neck and someone’s worried voice at his ear.

“Mark?” Simon’s concern bleeds through his attempt at nonchalance and Mark can’t bring himself to meet Simon’s eyes. “Mark? Are you okay? Should I get them to call your ma?”

Mark nods, unbelievably glad Simon gave him such a convenient out. He hears his friend call for Tommy and Spud (even the teachers call him that, now, the poor wee brat) and getting Tommy to grab the nearest teacher. Simon stays at his side, though, and it makes Mark want to cry. He’s trying his hardest to help and all Simon’s doing is making things worse.

The teacher arrives, takes one look and escorts Mark to the sickbay, leaving Simon, Tommy and Spud in his wake. Mark feels stupid for overreacting so much, and he buries his face in his mum when she arrives, letting her wrap both arms around him and press her lips to his forehead. He’s sullen all the way home, and she smiles sadly at him as she tucks him back into bed.

“It’s alright, Mark,” she says, and Mark’s shock must be clear on his face because she strokes his hair and laughs, just a little. “I know you don’t like worrying us when you’re sick. Because of Wee Davie.”

Mark nods at her, then trembles, “Ma…”

His mother reaches down to hug him again, when Wee Davie’s shriek splits the air and she pulls away. It’s just another thing going wrong today and Mark doesn’t need to see her apologetic face to know he’s moved down another notch on her list of priorities. He wraps himself in his blankets, grabs a book from the stack by his bed and ignores the wailing of his younger brother.

He must’ve drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knows, he’s being drawn into wakefulness by the sound of voices down the hall.

“Mark’s asleep, unfortunately, boys,” his mother says, affection warring with concern. “You can come back tomorrow.”

“Is Mark okay?” he hears, Spud’s soft voice barely able to be heard. “Si said he puked a lot, right Si?”

Simon responds in the affirmative, and Mark wants to die.

“We should probably go, guys,” Tommy says, “we gotta meet Franco. I hope Mark feels better, Mrs. Renton.”

“I’ll tell him you dropped by, boys,” Cathy says, “have fun.”

She gets a chorus of goodbyes, and then there’s quiet again. Mark pushes his duvet off and comes out, still feeling wretched but less like his world was imploding.

“Ma?”

“Oh, Mark, you’re awake! You just missed your friends- they dropped by to check on you, wasn’t that nice?”

“Yeah,” Mark says, leaning into her. “I love you.”

Cathy stares at him, a little bit shocked by the admission, but she doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too, Mark.”

And that’s all Mark needs to hear right now.

He goes back to school the day after next, which is a Friday, and begins the plan he’d set in place the day before, slowly but systematically distancing himself from Simon, who doesn’t seem to notice at first, but gets the message when Mark ignores him in the street, walking past him without even a ‘hi’. Simon gets more and more frustrated and upset, even Mark can see that, through his blank mask, especially since Mark's not acting any differently with any of the others. 

It gets to the point that Mark skips Tommy’s birthday party to avoid seeing Simon- because the feelings haven’t faded at all, they’ve gotten worse- and Si ends up perched on his windowsill, tapping furiously at the glass.

Mark considers not letting him in, but he’s seen Si in a mood before and it never ends well- he’d smash the glass at this point.

He unlatches the window, pulling it open and wincing when Simon falls through, not expecting it. He scrambles back to his feet, though, and his accusing face makes Mark’s heart fall, his next words adding to Mark’s guilt.

“What did I do?” Simon begs, fingers twisting in his jumper. He looks angry, yes, but also like he’d been punched in the gut and Mark turns away, unable to face him. Simon asks again, and again, his voice rising a little each time. His final repetition is too loud, it makes Mark wince and they both hear footsteps in the hall. Simon scrambles back up and out of the window, cursing, leaving Mark to be crushed by his own silence.

He skips the last week of school before the summer holidays, and when he eventually ventures out to find his friends, he’s joyfully returned to the fold, but his unspoken question is answered by Tommy, who’d borne the brunt of Simon’s confusion and who gives Mark an annoyed once-over, “he went to Italy with his sisters.”

Simon doesn’t come back until the day before school starts, and he’s visibly surprised when Mark speaks to him, though their banter resumes fast, so fast Mark can’t believe he ever let it fade away. But Simon never again tries climbing through his window at night.

The feelings do fade, in time, but the scars they left behind remain, a web of miscommunication and distrust tying them together and holding them apart in equal measure, meaning it’s uncomfortable to be alone together for months afterwards and leaving the ‘best’ permanently dropped from ‘best friends’.

Mark never fully realizes how much he hurt Simon, not even when Simon, some years later, drunkenly tells him. And Simon will never grasp that Mark telling him in return that he was in love with him wasn’t a joke, or a metaphor- that Mark was deeply and consumingly into his best friend.

It’s just another way he fucked up, Mark thinks, watching Simon slide into drug-induced unconsciousness. Just another way he failed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Simon's perspective of it all, I guess? Sorry if it's shit. Possible warning for terrible father figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so...  
> Simon's just very confused and not quite good enough at reading emotions.

Simon flinches when his mother screams “get out”, his momentary satisfaction at his father’s exit immediately plagued with sorrow when his Mama starts sobbing. He feels Louisa brush past him and go to her, leading her to the couch and holding her, eyes fixed on her brother.

“It’s not my fault,” Simon mouths at her, but he knows it’s not true. He had forced David Williamson’s hand, and thus his mother’s, and he got what he wanted- his father’s left the building, even if only temporarily. It doesn’t stop him feeling slightly guilty about causing his mother distress, and to make himself feel better he resolves to go and bother Mark.

It’s the work of a moment to sneak out, pulling his jacket on as he goes. It’s a long-ish walk to Mark’s home, and Simon spends a lot of time ignoring the niggling voice at the back of his head, reminding him his father’s lurking around somewhere, likely drunk, with a bone to pick with him.

His footsteps quicken the longer he walks and he ends up running the last ten minutes, skidding to a stop beneath Mark’s window and clambering up the deck.

He pulls himself onto the window ledge and then starts tapping, increasing the tempo and volume until Mark blinks himself awake and lets him in. He takes off his shoes and jacket and scrambles onto Mark’s bed, lying beside him and launching into the story without so much as a hello.

Mark’s tired, it’s clear, struggling to stay awake and Simon crawls beneath his duvet and puts his cold feet on Mark in retaliation. Mark startles, huffs, and listens, eyes softening with pity as Simon lays out his woes. It’s warm beneath the duvet and he feels himself start to drift, but he’s got to get home, sooner rather than later, if at all possible, so he continues to talk.

“And then the cunt had the audacity to say I didn’t care about my Mama,” he hisses, careful not to wake Mark’s parents or brother, Billy. “When he’s the bastard who keeps messing with her- she doesn’t deserve this, Mark!”

Mark stays suspiciously quiet for a beat too long, before managing a “yeah, he’s an ass” and yawning. Simon clenches his teeth- he hates being ignored- but he forgives Mark when the boy in question rolls towards him and he catches a glance of the shadows beneath Mark’s eyes. He’s tired too, and in the silence, it’s easy to drop off.

He wakes early, with the sun, years of rising for morning prayers a useful tool in sneaking out of strange bedrooms. He squirms out the window, shoelaces in his teeth, using Mark’s head as a boost and snickering quietly. He makes it home before dawn’s fully broken and manages to be in his own bed when his mother comes to wake him.

She strokes his forehead and he pretends to come to, eyes fluttering open, faking a yawn and mumbling a greeting.

“Time for school,” she’s pretending she’s alright and Simon’s not little, like Carlotta, he can see through it but he kneels at the foot of his bed and goes through the motions, before dashing to the shower, just barely locking the door before his elder sister Louisa arrives. Louisa hammers on it- it’s technically her turn, but she always goes overtime and Simon’s not in the mood- but eventually gives up, stomping down the hall to the kitchen.

Simon’s shower is quick and he’s helping himself to some toast before his sister’s finished her eggs. He hasn’t done any of his homework, but Mark’s a clever wee lad, and Simon’s in his form class. It’s a short walk to school, though he has to go via the primary to drop Carlotta off, Louisa taking any chance for retaliation for the shower thing.

He rushes the poor wee girl, but she’s used to it, and holds his hand tightly so she won’t get left behind. He only stays long enough to make sure she has her lunch and knows to wait for him by the gate at 3.30. Then he runs to the secondary school, because he’s got Mathematics first and he needs to copy.

Instead, he ends up pacing worriedly up and down outside the sick bay, hoping to hear that Mark’s alright. He’d gotten ill so fast, it made Simon’s head spin. He’s shooed off to class though, and he’s not even a tad irritated with Mark when he gets in trouble, he’s that worried about him.

He spends most of the day muttering to Tommy and Spud about it, filling Begbie in when he asks and agreeing to play some of his mates at soccer later that afternoon "to keep your mind off it". They drop by the Rentons’ first and hearing that Mark’s okay is enough.

The next day, there’s something a little bit off about Mark, but Simon shrugs it off as him being sick. He ignores Simon’s call that weekend and then stops passing him notes in class but Simon, knowing tests were looming, figured he wanted to concentrate, and gave him the space he needed to do well, because if any of them were going to University, it’d be Mark.

It’s when Mark walks past him without even turning to look at him, ignoring his attempt to talk to him, that Simon’s feelings are hurt.

Mark’s walking with Billy, though, he tries to rationalize, and Mark’s always annoyed around Billy. But after that he notices everything that Mark does; avoiding sitting next to him, leaving whenever he arrives, walking home in the rain to avoid being on the same bus… it’s painfully obvious and Simon doesn’t understand what happened, but he knows it’s got to be his fault. Mark’s not prone to overdramatic statements like that- that is _definitely_ more Simon’s default, so he’s got to have offended him somehow.

He racks his brain for weeks, trying to figure out what had triggered Mark pulling away, because he’s not going to let his best friend, his favourite person most of the time, go without a fight. He can’t think of anything, though, and he’d asked Tommy, but he’d gotten a blank stare and a “what, mate?”

Simon had almost been convinced by Spud and Tommy that he’d imagined it when Mark had skipped Tommy’s birthday party. That wasn’t usual and it wasn’t because he was unwell or away; according to Tommy, he’d come over that morning to apologize and say he couldn’t make it.

Simon tried to let it go, but Begbie’s ranting about Mark being ‘disrespectful’ and Tommy’s defending his absent friend. Simon decides to go to the bathroom and he’s coming back when he hears Spud say, “well, you know there’s that thing with Simon-” and he loses it.

He’s meant to be staying the night, but he just bolts out the door, running down the street and pounding up the pavement, rage flushing his face and ripping his breath away.

_I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I don’t understand. Why? Why? Why? WHY?!_

It’s the work of a moment to get to the familiar windowsill and he just barely remembers to control his volume, almost punching the glass in his frustration.

Mark’s reading at his desk, and Simon senses the hesitation, thumping the glass extra hard. Mark rolls his eyes and Simon closes his to stop himself from smashing through and throttling the ginger. Unfortunately, he’s also leaning on the window and he spills into the room as it opens, knocking his elbow on the hard wood.

He wants to scream and curse at him, tell him he’s a bastard, the worst friend Simon’s ever had, that he wants to smash Mark’s face into the nearest wall but all that comes out is the question that’s been burning Simon up inside for weeks.

“What did I do?”

Mark looks sick, and turns away and Simon trembles and repeats himself, raising his voice by degrees until he shouts. He hears footsteps in the hall at the same time as Mark turns to him in a panic, and he’s halfway out the window before Mark opens his mouth. He curses as he goes, all the names he wanted to call Mark spilling out of his mouth now it’s too late to be useful.

Mark’s not there for the last few days of school and by the Wednesday Simon’s told his mother that actually he will go to the Mother Country with the girls after all.

He spends the entire summer splashing around in a watering hole with his cousins, his uncle allowing them to “steal” one of the cars and practice driving in a field. It’s a wonderful distraction and it’s almost enough for him to forget the odd cavity in his chest.

School starts again far too fast and he’s resigned to feeling a stab to his abdomen every time he sees Mark when the boy in question asks him what he got up to in the holidays.

He catches Simon off guard and the vaguely accusatory reply he gives is weak. Mark smiles, though, and Simon decides it’s okay, that whatever happened, Simon’s willing to give Mark a second chance. He thinks he’s figured it out anyway; it was falling asleep in Mark’s bed, it must’ve upset him. Maybe he thought Simon was, well, a buftie and hitting on him. If he avoids that, Simon thinks, everything will be like it was before.

That’s not quite how it works, of course, there’s a new element of mistrust in their relationship that never quite goes away, but it’s as close as they’re ever going to get and Simon clings to it with both hands.

He tells Mark about it, one night, how agony-wracked those months had been for him, how irritating it was to just be dropped from Mark’s life, but he doesn’t think Mark understands.

It’s okay, though, he thinks, a warm heroin blanket dragging him under. He’s on the beanbag, not in Mark’s bed, and Mark will be here when he wakes up.


End file.
